


to say yes

by megeggsalad



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: (kind of), (youll see), Choking, Communication, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Kink Negotiation, Light Angst, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, i think thats it, oh also:, please let me know if you need anything else tagged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 21:04:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10705053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megeggsalad/pseuds/megeggsalad
Summary: “Yes,” Dylan says. He doesn’t know how many times he’s said it tonight. He doesn’t care. He’d say yes to Connor forever.





	to say yes

**Author's Note:**

> this is..........i did not ever see myself writing this ever in my life. um. sex. yay.

They talk about it before they really start doing it.

Well, sort of--the first time, they kind of stumble into it on accident: Connor’s fucking Dylan into the bed and he has a hand around Dylan’s dick and Dylan is so goddamn close-- 

And when Connor leans down to kiss him, Connor also presses a hand to the side of Dylan’s neck, which, fine, normal, whatever, until Connor loses his balance a little and his hand tightens around Dylan’s neck, and Dylan loses his breathe a little in the best possible way and comes, just like that. 

Afterward, when they’re both just starting to come out of their post-orgasm haze, Connor says, “I choked you a little, at the end.” 

Dylan meets his eyes and says, “I liked it.” 

That seems to take Connor a little by surprise, but he’s also Connor, and so he takes it in stride and says, “What else?” 

They’ve had this talk before, but it was different--it was more basic, when they were teenagers, just kids who wanted to get off. But this time--Dylan stopped lying to himself a long time ago, and this time, he’s been thinking about exactly what he wants for a while now. 

So, he takes a deep breath and says, “When you talk--when you tell me I’m doing good for you, shit like that. When you choke me, a little, or a lot, I don’t know. When you throw me around.” 

He pauses for a second, and Connor uses the space to say, “Marks? Biting?” 

“Both,” Dylan answers, and finally feels his cheeks turn a little red. “The more the better.” 

Connor nods, carefully, considering. He reaches over and runs a hand through Dylan’s hair. He props himself up on an elbow to get a better angle, and then does it again, and Dylan leans into him and practically purrs. 

“Dyls,” Connor murmurs, and Dylan looks at him. “You know--you can tell me, I mean, when you like these things, and especially if you don’t, I just--” 

Dylan leans up and kisses his cheek. “I know, Con. I know.” 

Connor smiles at him, satisfied, and pulls him in for one more kiss before nudging him down onto the bed. 

They sleep, for a while, and then a month later, summer ends, and Connor flies to Edmonton and Dylan doesn’t follow him. 

*** 

Eight months in and Dylan can’t handle it. He’s always needed Connor a little more than Connor’s needed him, he’s pretty sure, but he doesn’t tell Connor, because Connor’s captaining a playoff team and Dylan’s gotten the Yotes closer, but they’re still so far away, and what he’s feeling is nothing compared to the stress Connor’s under. He tries to have fun the last few weeks of the season, when it becomes clear they’re going to miss the playoffs yet again, and focus on the fact that they at least closed the gap; they at least took steps forward. 

And it works, actually--he likes his team, and they like him, and given a season or two, they’ll absolutely be exactly where Dylan wants them to be. He plays good hockey--good enough for his name to come up when people start talking about the awards ceremony in June, and he relaxes, a little, into the swing of things without the stress and pressure of the word maybe resting on his shoulders. 

But he still can’t handle it--can’t handle being away from Connor for this long. They facetime and video chat consistently--more than consistently, actually; Dylan’s pretty good friends with some of Connor’s teammates now, just from how often Connor tends to facetime him and how often they all hang out. 

They’re a really, really close team, the Oilers are, like the Otters were, those last few years. The Yotes aren’t like that, but Dylan thinks--maybe they could be, soon. He wants them to be. He misses it. 

So he gets to see Connor’s face, and hear his voice, and he gets to have incredible phone sex with Connor pretty much whenever he needs to get off, he just--he just. 

He’s forgetting the way Connor smells, only knows on a base level that he smells like his evergreen shampoo and sometimes like tape, weirdly enough, from taping his stick--unless, of course, that’s changed. Dylan wouldn’t know, now. He’s forgetting the way Connor looks when he wakes up in the morning, forgetting the way he blinks his eyes open slowly against Dylan’s skin, forgetting the way he’ll start to ghost kisses across Dylan’s skin before he’s even fully aware of his surroundings. 

He has these memories, and he holds onto them with all that he can, but they’re fading. That’s how it works, and Dylan’s never been naive. He knows his memories will fade, he just desperately, desperately hopes he and Connor themselves aren’t fading, too. 

He just feels--feels a little bit off, like he’s slipping down a hill he didn’t quite realize was so steep, but it’s a slow fall. He’s having fun on the ice, and the guys are great, but Connor--he misses Connor so goddamn much, and Connor’s still a whole country away. 

They didn’t even have the All-Star break, because Connor’s going to make the All-Star team until the day he dies, probably, and all Dylan will be is another Yotes centerman who tried too hard and got too little back. 

He gets through it, though, and gets through the season, and is surprised to find out that locker cleanout tugs at his heart more than a little. He hugs Chych and Crouser and some of the vets, and ruffles Keller’s hair and makes sure the kid has his number before he ducks out of the arena, shouting his goodbyes over his shoulder. 

There’s a missed call from Connor waiting for him when he checks his phone. He doesn’t hesitate to press the call back button. 

“Come to Edmonton,” Connor says, without a greeting, when he picks up on the first ring. 

“Now?” Dylan basically has to choke the word out, because it seems Connor hasn’t lost his habit of shocking Dylan’s heart into skipping a beat or making Dylan’s lungs stop functioning completely. 

“Your season’s done,” Connor says, and they’ve talked this over so many times that it doesn’t sting. “I can’t go back home yet, so come here.” 

Dylan pushes aside the fact that he’s pretty sure Connor wasn’t talking about Newmarket when he said home, and says, “I need a few hours to pack.” 

Connor laughs. “Relax, sweetheart, the earliest flight I could get you was noon tomorrow.” 

“You were so sure I’d say yes,” Dylan says. 

“Well,” Connor says, as Dylan sets up the Bluetooth in his car. He sounds a little self-conscious, and Dylan hates that. 

“Hey,” he says, voice soft. “Of course I was going to say yes. Send me the flight info.” 

“I did,” Connor says, and his voice turns teasing again. “You just never check your email.” 

Dylan makes a noise that means fuck off, and Connor laughs, and they talk about everything and nothing until Dylan gets home. Connor must not have practice, because it’s almost three in the afternoon in Edmonton, and he’s given no indication he’s going to hang up any time soon. 

“Should I eat?” he finds himself asking Connor, who hums a little under his breath. 

“Did you have breakfast?” Connor asks. 

“Yes,” Dylan says. “I haven’t eaten since, except for coffee.” 

“Eat,” Connor decides for him. “What do you have?” 

“Leftover takeout,” Dylan says. “Probably pasta.” 

“Dylan,” Connor says, exasperatedly. 

“I used to have more, I swear,” Dylan says, protesting Connor’s tone. “Chych and Crouser stayed over the other night and ate everything.” 

Connor laughs at him, just a little, very softly. “Eat the takeout, Dyls.” 

Dylan does, and puts Connor on speaker so Connor can talk while he eats. 

These days don’t happen often, but sometimes--sometimes Connor will call Dylan on a day that he is completely free, and they will talk for hours upon hours, and Dylan almost remembers what it is to have Connor next to him every second of the day. Connor stays on the phone while Dylan packs, eats dinner, and then packs some more, and then makes them both go to bed at a reasonable time. Dylan doesn’t put up much of a fight on that one--Connor still has games to play, and needs every moment of sleep he can get. 

Dylan wakes up early the next morning, mainly so he can ship most of his things to Mississauga. He’s antsy, and he knows it’s because he can practically feel how close he’s going to be to Connor again. 

His flight is relatively short, compared to some of his flights during the season, but he knows he’s being twitchy and annoying, and he feels sort of bad for the person sitting next to him. 

Connor had a morning skate and that was it, so Dylan texts him when he’s landed but takes a cab to his apartment. He tips well, because he’s still being annoying, tapping his fingers on the seat next to him and bouncing his knee and checking his phone approximately every two seconds. 

Connor opens the door before he can knock, and Dylan’s heart starts beating like crazy at the sight of him. 

“Dylan,” Connor whispers, and the look on his face is part desperate, part overjoyed. “Oh, my god, Dylan.” 

And then Dylan’s being pulled inside, into Connor’s arms, and crushed in one of his hugs. 

“Connor,” Dylan whispers into the skin of his neck, over and over again. 

There are tears in Connor’s eyes when he pulls back. “Your luggage,” he says, even though Dylan can tell it hurts him almost physically to pull away from him. 

They get everything inside, and when Connor locks the door behind them, his resolve seems to break, because he spins around and puts his hands on Dylan’s neck and kisses him. 

Dylan groans into Connor’s mouth, because Connor bites down on his lip, hard, almost immediately. Connor shoves a hand up Dylan’s shirt and presses Dylan close, pushing his fingers hard into Dylan’s back. 

“Fuck,” he whispers into Connor’s mouth, and Connor grins. 

“Bed,” Connor orders, and pushes Dylan towards his bedroom. Dylan just wants to touch Connor, but Connor doesn’t let him stop, keeps pushing him until he’s inside and the door is closed. 

Connor still doesn’t kiss him, though, and something must show on Dylan’s face, because Connor reaches out and pulls him close. 

“You’re good?” Connor asks, and Dylan knows he’s asking about all of it. Everything they’ve tried before that Dylan’s liked--Connor’s asking if he’s okay for it all. 

“Yes,” Dylan says. 

“You’ll tell me to stop if you need me to?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good,” Connor says, and shoves Dylan back. His back doesn’t hit the door too hard, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on how careful Connor still is with him before Connor’s touching him again, biting at his lips, gripping his hips so hard he knows there’ll be bruises. 

“Shirt,” Connor gasps, and Dylan all but rips it off. Connor ducks his head and starts to mouth at Dylan’s neck before biting down and sucking. Dylan can’t hold back his moan, so he doesn’t try to, and he knows Connor likes to hear him, anyways. 

There’s a hickey on Dylan’s neck, darkening fast, when Connor pulls up a few minutes later. He presses his mouth to Dylan’s and it’s a little softer, this time, but not by much. Dylan just holds onto Connor’s hips and lets Connor do what he wants, and it feels so good, because Dylan trusts Connor more than anyone in the world, and it’s past time he’s just let go of everything for a little while. 

Dylan closes his eyes and rests his head against the door behind him. All he can hear are the sounds of his own breath hitching and Connor’s mouth against his skin, and god, it’s so much. 

When Connor bites down lightly on his nipple, Dylan gasps and his eyes fly open. 

“Connor,” he gasps out, and Connor breathes out a laugh before smoothing his tongue along Dylan’s nipple, where his teeth had just been. 

“Good, Dyls?” Connor asks him. 

“Yes,” he whispers, and his voice is so hoarse. Connor gives his other nipple the same treatment and Dylan groans, his legs buckling a little. 

Connor catches him. “You’re making such beautiful sounds, Dyls,” Connor says, and warmth spreads through Dylan’s chest, especially as Connor once again soothes the sting of his teeth with his tongue. 

Dylan whines, a little, at the praise, and he can feel Connor smile against his skin. 

“Okay, bed,” Connor decides, and Dylan stumbles over after him, his knees still a little weak. 

“Strip for me?” Connor asks, and goes to take his own shirt off. 

Dylan nods and does as Connor asks. By the time he’s naked, Connor is too, and is just watching him, eyes on fire but somehow fond. 

“You’re so hot, Dyls,” Connor says, and Dylan smiles at him, bright and happy, like he knows Connor likes. 

It earns him a kiss, a gentle one, and then another one, and then Connor is pulling away again, and Dylan can’t help but whimper and reach after him, because they’ve been apart for so long already-- 

“Shh,” Connor hushes him, and his voice is so gentle Dylan can’t help but listen. He quiets pretty fast, and waits for Connor to say something. “On the bed, Dyls. On your back, hands on the headboard.” 

Dylan moves as soon as the words leave Connor’s mouth, which puts a self-satisfied smile right onto Connor’s lips. Connor moves around the side of his bed so he can reach Dylan more easily, and Dylan wills his body into stillness. He knows it’ll get harder to stay still when Connor touches him, so he grips the headboard hard and clenches his jaw. 

Sure enough, when Connor runs a hand up Dylan’s stomach, his nails scraping along Dylan’s skin, Dylan’s muscles twitch, and Dylan has to bite down on another whimper. 

Connor notices, because he always does. “You’re okay for noise, now, sweetheart,” he croons, tracing a hand over Dylan’s face and smoothing back his hair. 

God, this is--Dylan’s already breathing hard, and Connor’s barely touched him. He’s been hard practically since Connor kissed him for the first time. This is so, so much, and when Connor’s hand leaves his chest he wants to bed for it back, wants to ask Connor to never stop touching him, ever again. He doesn’t, though, just breathes out a little too hard. Connor gives him a placating look and reaches over to his nightstand drawer. Dylan knows he’s going to pull out a condom and lube, and is completely unsurprised when he’s right. 

“For a little later,” Connor promises, and leans over to give Dylan a kiss. “Still okay?” 

“Yes,” Dylan breathes out. Connor is so, so beautiful, with his mouth red from kissing and his eyes sparkling with want. 

Connor makes a pleased sound and climbs on top of Dylan, immediately tucking his head in to kiss Dylan’s neck again. 

The more, the better, Dylan had said, when they’d talked about this for the first time, months ago, and Connor certainly listened. His skin aches in the best way when Connor’s finally done with him--and Dylan knows most of the hickeys will be gone by the morning, but it takes a while longer for the scratches and pinches from Connor’s nails to fade, and that--Dylan loves that. 

“Okay, sweetheart,” Connor says, and leans off of Dylan to grab the lube. “Are you ready?” 

“Yes,” Dylan says, and god, he sounds so wrecked. It makes Connor smile, though. 

Connor nudges his legs apart, and some of the marks on his skin twinge, but that only arouses Dylan more, makes the head of his cock a little more wet with precome. Connor’s fingers are gentle at his hole, as always, and the lube isn’t as cold as Dylan expected it to be. 

When Connor pushes a finger in, a strangled noise makes its way out of Dylan’s throat of its own accord. Connor’s free hand makes its way to Dylan’s throat and presses down, just enough that Dylan chokes a little on his next breath of air. Dylan’s hands twitch--he wants to touch Connor so, so bad. 

After a few minutes of working him over with one, Connor slowly pushes another finger inside him, and Dylan’s back arches a little, the heels of his feet pushing into the mattress. 

When Connor gets to three, and pushes down a little harder on Dylan’s throat, he swears he sees stars. Not because Connor’s pushing too hard, because he’s so goddamn close to coming untouched. 

“You ready now, Dyls?” Connor murmurs, eyes searching his face and hand coming off his throat a little. 

“Yes, yes, just fuck me, please,” Dylan manages to rasp out. His voice is so fucking wrecked. Connor lets go of him completely to reach for the condom, rip it open, and slide it on himself. 

“You can let go of the headboard now, Dyls,” Connor says, and Dylan sighs with relief as he starts to unfold his fingers. “Stretch your arms first, and then you can touch me.” 

Dylan does as he says, and when his arms are less stiff, he touches Connor’s face, runs his fingers through Connor’s hair. His hands settle on Connor’s shoulders as Connor finally pushes into him, and they both let out simultaneous groans. 

“Fuck, Dyls, you’re so good,” Connor gasps out, punctuating his words with thrusts. “So goddamn good for me.” 

God, if Connor keeps this up, it really won’t take long. Dylan doesn’t realize he’s said this out loud until Connor huffs out a laugh, and fucks into him harder. Dylan curses and grips at Connor’s back. 

“Connor, please.” Dylan doesn’t usually beg, but-- “Please let me come, please--” 

In response, Connor thrusts into Dylan one more time, wraps a hand around Dylan’s dick, and jerks him off in time with his thrusts. 

Dylan comes first, his vision whiting out a little at the edges, back arching up, pushing him against Connor’s skin. 

It doesn’t take Connor long, either, a few more thrusts and he’s coming too. Dylan’s just coherent enough to kiss him, stroking a hand through his hair. Connor pulls out, gently, and ties the condom off, throwing it into the trash can near his nightstand, before collapsing gently on top of Dylan. 

“Are you alright?” Connor whispers, face pressed into Dylan’s neck. 

“Yeah,” Dylan whispers back, and it’s true. Dylan hasn’t felt this good in weeks. 

Connor pulls himself off of Dylan, though, and makes himself stand up. Dylan goes with him, sitting up with the complete intent of pulling Connor back down. 

Connor smiles at him, and leans down to press a kiss to Dylan’s forehead. “We’re both gross, Dyls,” he says. “And we both need to rehydrate. I’ll be back in less than five minutes.” 

“Okay,” Dylan whispers, because no matter how much he doesn’t want to be alone, no matter how much Connor knows he doesn’t want to be alone, their health is important too. 

Connor is back in three minutes, and by then, Dylan’s managed to get the top sheet off the bed. 

“Here,” Connor says, and unscrews the lid to Dylan’s Gatorade. He brings it up to Dylan’s lips, and Dylan tilts his head back so he can drink. 

He makes sure Connor drinks, too, before cleaning them both off. Connor pulls the comforter over them both and they split a protein bar, because they’re both athletes and Dylan knows that’s basically all Connor has in his kitchen at any given time. 

Connor pulls Dylan into his chest when they’re finished. “I missed you,” Connor says, and his voice sounds breathless and sad in a way Dylan’s never heard before. “I missed you so much, Dyls.” 

“I missed you too, Con,” he says, and presses a kiss to Connor’s chest. “I missed you every day.” 

Connor sighs, and it’s shaky, and when Dylan looks up at him, there are tears in his eyes. Dylan just hugs him closer, and tighter, no matter how it makes his body twinge. Connor’s fingers are gentle on his back, soft over his sensitive skin. 

“Will you stay?” Connor asks, pressing his forehead against Dylan’s. “For playoffs, until I go home. Will you stay for all of it?” 

“Yes,” Dylan says. He doesn’t know how many times he’s said it tonight. He doesn’t care. He’d say yes to Connor forever. “Of course I’ll stay. Why do you think I’m here?” 

“I…” Connor doesn’t finish, just shakes his head, and Dylan starts to rethink his idea that he needs Connor more than Connor needs him. 

“I’m here because I love you,” Dylan says, and cups Connor’s face in his hands. “Because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be, than here, with you.” 

“God, Dyls,” Connor murmurs, and presses a kiss to his mouth. “I love you, too. I love you so much.” 

And so Dylan stays. Because he’ll never be able to say no to Connor. 

He stays, and he says yes, and he says yes, and he says yes.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you liked it. please, PLEASE let me know if you need anything else tagged.


End file.
